


More than enough

by Ailendolin



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Gen, Gren needs a hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Injury, Injury Recovery, Near Death Experiences, Suicidal Thoughts, hurt!Gren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-26 02:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21366817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailendolin/pseuds/Ailendolin
Summary: Five times Gren didn’t escape from Viren's dungeon and one time he did.
Relationships: Amaya & Gren (The Dragon Prince), Amaya/Gren (The Dragon Prince), Gren & Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Runaan/Tinker | Necklace Elf (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 241





	1. 1. Amaya

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Dragon Prince fandom!
> 
> 1\. I've only discovered The Dragon Prince a few days ago and when Gren and Amaya appeared on screen for the first time my only thought was: "They're going to be my favorite characters, aren't they?" So logically, I had to write a fic about them. 
> 
> 2\. This story can be read as either romantic or a friendship fic. I'll leave that up to you and I think it's written in a way both people who ship Amaya/Gren and those that don't can enjoy it. 
> 
> 3\. As the summary suggests, this story will have 5 chapters set during Gren's imprisonment and 1 chapter after his rescue as seen in the end credits drawing of season 2. My plan is to have this story completely uploaded by the time season 3 airs. It's already completely written and only needs a little fine-tuning. 
> 
> 4\. Last but not least: I'm not a native speaker and I do not have a beta-reader. So if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out and I will gladly correct them.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own The Dragon Prince and I'm not making any money with this story.

**More than enough**

**1\. Amaya**

Gren had only been chained up for a day but it felt much longer. The pain in his wrists, chafed raw from struggling against the heavy iron chains that bound him to the stone wall, had dulled to a muted throbbing now but his shoulders still ached with the strain of holding his arms up for hours on end. Gren knew it was only the beginning, though. The longer he would be forced to stand this way, unable to sit down, the more his arms and shoulders would hurt. Already he could feel his legs trembling from bearing his weight for hours on end.

All that was nothing compared to the pain at the back of his head, though.

“Bastard,” Gren muttered into the oppressing silence of Viren’s secret dungeon.

He might not be much of a soldier despite what his rank suggested but he’d put up a fight nonetheless when Viren’s true intentions became clear, when Amaya’s warning came true much sooner than Gren had anticipated. A part of him couldn’t quite believe that Viren would be so bold as to attack him the moment Amaya was out of sight. _But then again_, he thought grudgingly, _why shouldn’t he?_ They both knew Gren was no match for the Dark Mage, so why wait?

Still, hopeless as it was, Gren had fought tooth and nails when Viren made it clear he had not intention of letting Gren go after the princes. Alone, outnumbered and facing an enemy swords couldn’t harm he hadn’t stood a chance but he’d tried – for Amaya, for Prince Callum and for Prince Ezran. He’d tried until Viren, probably bored out of his mind of dealing with him, stopped humoring him and smashed him against a pillar with the force of a storm. For one agonizing moment pain exploded in Gren’s head, white-hot and worse than the fires of the Breach, and then he felt nothing.

He woke up cold, hurting and chained to a wall.

That had been yesterday. Gren had neither slept nor eaten since then and his throat felt parched. When Viren finally graced him with his presence and deemed it necessary to feed him it took all of Gren’s willpower not to gulp down the precious water offered in a simple wooden cup.

“You know,” Gren said a few minutes later in-between mouthfuls of stale bread, “you’re full of hidden talents.”

Viren raised one unimpressed eyebrow. “How so?”

Gren flashed him a grin. “I never knew you could cook and bake! Or do you use Dark Magic for that, too?”

With a roll of his eyes Viren snatched the still half-full plate away from him and ascended the stairs without a single glance back. Gren sighed, letting his smile drop. So much for making small talk. He knew it wouldn’t do to antagonize Viren. It was one of the first things he’d learned during his military training: don’t paint a target on your own back when you’ve been captured by the enemy. Make yourself likeable or pitiable, try to gain your captors’ sympathy. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you.

Amaya didn’t like playing by those rules. She’d rather be feared than pitied and would never back down from a fight, be it in a battle of swords or a battle of wills. Gren admired her for that even though he knew from experience that making yourself small and unassuming sometimes was the only way to make it through a day. The orphanage had taught him that much.

He had a feeling this strategy wouldn’t work with Viren, though. The Dark Mage kept Gren locked away not because he wanted to get something out of it – no, he’d captured Gren for a very simple reason: to have him out of the way. Gren held no value for him as a prisoner, so Gren couldn’t expect to gain Viren’s sympathy by appealing to his conscience. On the contrary, one false move and Viren might rid himself of Gren altogether – and that was the last thing Gren wanted.

_I have to give Amaya time_, he thought. _It’ll take a while until she’ll realize something’s wrong. I’ve got to hold out until then. _

It was easier said than done, though. Gren was tired and every move of his head made the room around him spin. When he closed his eyes, the spinning got even worse. Every time sleep tugged at him and his head rolled to the side, he jerked awake with motion-sickness, fighting hard to keep what little he’d eaten down. It was no wonder, feeling as awful as he was, that he longed for a familiar kind face – the person closest and dearest to him. What he wouldn’t give for that cursed stone staircase to spiral down and reveal Amaya, her normally tense face softening with relief when she saw him.

_I’ve got you_, the vision of her signed to him reassuringly as she stepped closer. Gren could almost imagine the touch of her hands on his face, or on his raw wrists and around his shoulders when she held him against her. She was warm, a welcome relief from the cold, drafty dungeon, and her hair felt soft against his skin. He wanted nothing more than to stay in her embrace forever, safe and sound.

But then Amaya pulled back and her eyes, so pretty, so impressive, were filled with sadness. She stepped backwards, away from him, and Gren didn’t understand. “Where are you going?” he asked alarmed, pulling at his chains to reach for her even as she faded into the dark.

It was the sharp pain in his wrists and shoulders that finally startled him awake. Gren’s eyes flew open, searching for her desperately in the gloom, but she was gone.

_A dream_, he thought, slowly easing his pull on the chains. _It was just a dream_.

There was a hollow emptiness inside him, a void where just a moment ago Amaya had been. Gren shivered, suddenly feeling cold and very much alone in this cursed place, wishing he could curl up in a corner and hide from the harsh world just like he had as a child. He missed her, and the possibility of never seeing her again left him trembling worse than any icy chill could.

“Please come back,” Gren whispered into the dark room.

The dungeon remained silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you think! 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at ailendolin.tumblr.com. I'd love to meet people in this fandom who love Amaya and Gren as much as I do :)


	2. 2. Amaya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self-inflicted injury

**2\. Amaya**

Gren had no idea how long he had been in Viren’s secret dungeon – it couldn’t have been more than two or three days, he reckoned, but he couldn’t be sure. Time was weird down here and it hadn’t taken long until he lost all sense of it. The dungeon was dark and gloomy. There was no window to show him whether it was night or day and the meals Viren brought him were so sporadic Gren didn’t know whether he was served breakfast, lunch or dinner. Judging by the gnawing in his stomach he’d wager he got one meal a day, at most.

_That would make it three days_, he thought glumly.

Three days of being chained up against a wall with little to no room to move and no way to rest his arms and legs. Three days of almost no sleep, wearing an armor that pulled his shoulders down with all its weight. Three days spent mostly alone, sometimes in utter darkness when Viren was in a particular foul mood and snuffed out all the candles with a wave of his hand when he left. Those were the times Gren hated and feared the most, when the dark became so impenetrable that it felt like the walls were closing in on him.

They brought back bad memories, too.

Gren tried his hardest not to think about the Silent Room at the orphanage, the one the kids had also called the Punish Room in hushed, terrified whispers, but it was difficult when time was running syrupy slow and he had only his own treacherous thoughts to keep him company. He didn’t know if Viren left him in the dark on purpose, if he had somehow found out about Gren’s greatest fear (apart from losing Amaya) and was actively using it against him but Gren refused to give him the satisfaction of begging for a little light. He refused to let Viren see how distraught he truly was whenever the light went out, so instead of pleading with him now to leave the candles burning Gren plastered a fake smile on his face and bid the Dark Mage a cheerful goodnight-or-whatever-time-it-was.

The silence Viren left in his wake was deafening.

Gren swallowed hard and closed his eyes. _You’re not here_, he thought fervently even though his heart was hammering painfully inside his chest and every so often would miss a beat. _You’re not back there. You’re at home at the barracks, and Amaya is just a door away. There is no dungeon and no orphanage. You’re safe. _

But the logical part of his brain knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t safe at all and he was utterly powerless to do something about that and get himself out of this terrible situation. That, more than anything, frightened Gren: the helplessness. He had always been resourceful, able to either talk or smile himself out of trouble or run away from it as a last resort. Now he could do neither. And the worst thing was: the longer he stayed locked up, the farther away the princes would get and the more danger they would be in. Were they even still alive?

Gren didn’t know. He only knew it was a possibility, and the pain he was constantly in because of the chains, the panic he felt every time the lights went out – they were nothing compared to the guilt settling like a heavy rock in his stomach at the thought of having failed Amaya and the princes. Amaya had entrusted him with the care of the two people she loved most in this world and he had let her down by allowing himself to get captured like a fool.

Unbidden, his eyes began to burn and he bit hard on his lip. What would she say if she found him here? He imagined her walking down the spiral staircase. Every step precise, elegant – battle-ready. She was a vision to behold – always had been, from the moment he first saw her, all those years ago. All he’d ever wanted was to make her proud. But he hadn’t. Not this time, maybe never.

Amaya’s eyes were cold with fury when they met his in the gloom. Even worse was the disappointment lingering beneath. She didn’t try to hide it.

_I trusted you_, she signed, her motions sharp and angry.

_I tried_, he wanted to plead but the words got stuck in his throat. She looked at him with disdain.

_Cut him down_, she told the two soldiers with her. _Bring him before the High Council. He will be tried for treason. The princes are dead because of him and he will pay for that._

Gren’s eyes shot open and his heavy breaths echoed loudly in the silence between the cold dungeon walls. The darkness around him wasn’t any more merciful than the one that lurked behind his eyes, but at least this one wasn’t filled with Amaya’s stone-cold gaze. Gren shuddered, trying to forget how disappointed and betrayed she had looked. He would like to think that the real Amaya would be more forgiving once she’d learned about what had happened to him, that she’d understand he hadn’t failed her for lack of trying.

_But this isn’t about you_, a voice in Gren’s head whispered. _This is about the princes. Compared to them you are nothing more than a faithful lapdog. Compared to them you don’t matter at all._

For a moment, Gren stood perfectly still, a lone figure in a room that seemed to be shrinking around him. Then, in a fit of desperation, he threw his whole body forward and against the chains with everything he had. He needed to get out of here, needed to make things right. He was prepared to lose a hand, a limb, even his life as long as it meant he wouldn’t lose Amaya, wouldn’t lose her trust, wouldn’t ever see that disappointed look on her face. He had to get free and find the princes and bring them home alive and safe. That was all that mattered.

So he pulled and twisted and gritted his teeth like a caged animal until suddenly something gave way in his right wrist. A horrible crack, then fiery agony that lit up every nerve in his body.

Gren screamed, and the darkness around him became impossibly darker. It crept along the edges of his vision like a predator until it lunged, mercifully, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all you wonderful people who have read this story and left kudos or comments! It really means the world to me and I hope you enjoyed the second chapter as well! 
> 
> As you've seen I headcanon Gren as an orphan. There's no particular reason for this. It's just, we know so little about him and I feel the life he leads, being Amaya's Voice, must be very time-consuming and I just don't see him going off to war for months or years if he had someone at home waiting for him since he seems to me like the kind of person who would cherish his family above everything else. And that's how the idea of him being an orphan was born. 
> 
> The next chapter will most like be published on Thursday or Friday - and we're finally meeting Gren's dungeon buddy ;)


	3. 3. Runaan

**3\. Runaan**

“Are you all right?”

It was a voice – quiet and muted as if coming from a great distance or from under water. Gren had heard it before, that voice, though it had never spoken directly to him. He’d known for a while now that he wasn’t truly alone down here in the dungeon, that Viren kept at least one other person in this filthy place besides him. But whenever Gren had tried to talk to the other prisoner before – all those times the memories from his childhood and the terror of the dark they brought with them became too much and he longed for something solid, something real in the blackness – he had only ever been met with deafening silence.

Now, that had changed. Those four simple words were a metaphorical light in the oppressive ever-lasting night that was all around him. Gren reached for them, held onto them, treasured them close to his heart. They were real – finally a connection to someone who wasn’t Viren after all this time. In that moment it didn’t matter that the words had sounded more like a reluctant grumble than a truly concerned question. Gren was so desperate for contact even a barely friendly voice felt like balm to his ears.

Slowly, agonizingly so, he clawed himself out of unconsciousness until everything around him didn’t feel muted anymore. His right wrist throbbed in time with his heartbeat and sluggishly, Gren remembered: he remembered pulling and twisting – then a crack and white-hot pain, followed by nothingness. Without looking he knew he had broken something in his desperate attempt to get free. He remembered that feeling from before, and he remembered it well.

His hand already felt cold and was starting to get numb. Something warm was slowly trickling down his arm. _What have I done?_

Gren’s breathing hitched in horror as he realized the true consequences of his actions. He was such a fool. His hands were his only means of communicating with Amaya. He needed both to talk to her properly and he’d gone and damaged one of them in a stupid attempt to slip free of rusty chains that hadn’t given way in all the time he’d been chained up.

What had he been thinking? Gren shook his head in frustration, angry at himself. What if the bones healed the wrong way? What if he had hurt some nerves? What if he lost feeling in his fingers, making it impossible to form those precious signs ever again? What good would he be to Amaya then, both as her interpreter as well as her friend?

“Oh no,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “This can’t be happening. No, no, _no_!”

“Hello?” the voice called out again, out of nowhere, and it startled Gren out of his downward spiral. The word echoed through the dungeon, loud and clear – like a rock in a rolling sea and Gren held onto it with everything he had, focusing on the tone, the syllables, the questioning note – _anything_ to stop himself from thinking about all those _what ifs_. His heart was racing a mile a minute, but he took one deliberately deep breath after another and forced himself to calm down one breath at a time.

_Breathe._

When he didn’t feel like his heart would be jumping out of his throat anymore, Gren gathered up his courage and asked uncertainly, “Uhm, h-hello?” Despite his best efforts his voice came out shaky and just a little bit out of breath, as if he’d just came to a full stop after a run. He hated that. When he was Amaya’s Voice he always sounded so confident and sure of himself – just like Amaya was – but the moment he had to speak for himself all that confidence vanished into thin air and he started stumbling over his words awkwardly. He wondered if that would ever change.

An exasperated sigh came from down the hall. “Are you all right?” the other prisoner asked impatiently.

Gren slumped against the wall. “I think I broke my wrist.”

“Even for a human that’s foolish.”

Gren chuckled without humor. “Yeah. Foolish, that’s me. I’m Gren the Foolish.” He sighed dejectedly. Silence answered him and Gren couldn’t stand it. “What’s your name?” he asked, desperate to keep the voice talking, even though he suspected it belonged to an elf – most likely one of the king’s assassins. He didn’t expect to get an answer, but the other prisoner surprised him.

“Runaan,” the elf said, rather grudgingly.

Gren’s eyes widened. “Runaan,” he whispered, amazed. After all this time, he had a name! “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Can’t say the same,” Runaan muttered and for the first time in what felt like weeks Gren felt himself smile with almost giddy happiness.

It was a start.

Runaan, he found out, had a no-nonsense attitude and a low tolerance for stupid questions. His dry wit reminded Gren of Amaya – a realization that left him struggling. On one hand Gren knew the elf was most likely responsible for killing King Harrow. Why else would Viren have him here? So had Gren happened upon Runaan under different circumstances he would have thrown him into prison himself, no doubt about that. On the other hand, the way Runaan spoke, the honor and loyalty to his people Gren heard in everything he said and all the things he kept quiet about were achingly familiar. Amaya was like that, too: saying only what was most important and keeping everything else to herself, yet still unable to hide how much she cared for the people she loved.

It made it extremely difficult to see Runaan as just the enemy – especially since Gren felt himself latching onto every word he said like a drowning man. Runaan became something like a lifeline to him in this horrible place and Gren was unable and unwilling to stop that from happening. With just one word or a quiet huff from his cell, the elf managed to banish Gren’s ghosts and demons, reminding him that he was not alone down here, not entirely forgotten.

Gren liked to think he did the same for Runaan in return.

“You remind me of someone,” Runaan said one day, out of the blue, sounding defeated. Gren was not sure what Viren had shown him during his latest visit but whatever it was had clearly shaken the elf if he felt the need to share personal information – something he had never done before. It made Gren angry. Viren had no right to threaten him. This wasn’t how Katolis law worked. They didn’t torture people, be they elves or humans. They gave criminals a fair trial and what Viren was doing was anything but that. The mage’s ever-shifting moods became increasingly dangerous and volatile and Gren feared Runaan was running out of time.

He feared they both were.

“Who are they?” he asked, trying to rotate his arms a little to ease the strain on his shoulders. He winced when the chains dug painfully into his broken wrist. It had gone almost completely numb a day (or what felt like a day) or so ago, a worrying sign Gren tried his best to ignore.

“Annoyingly talkative like you,” Runaan muttered though there was a hint of amusement to his tone.

“You miss them, don’t you?” Gren asked. “I miss someone, too. I miss her very much,” he admitted quietly, thinking about fierce eyes and the most gentle smile he had ever seen.

Runaan was silent for a while. The quiet wasn’t deafening, though; it felt contemplative, instead, with wistful memories dancing on its edges just out of reach. “I do not think I will ever see him again,” Runaan finally said.

Gren’s head jerked up. “Don’t say that!” he hissed, suddenly and inexplicably angry. “We will get out of here. Someone will come and find us. You’ll see!”

“And what do you think will happen to me, then, should your words turn out to be more than a fool’s hope?” Runaan asked calmly. “You know this story doesn’t have a happy ending for me. Your optimism isn’t going to change that.”

“Because you’re already dead?” Gren asked, but there was no heat behind the words. Runaan was right. Even if they were found it was unlikely he would ever be allowed to return home. He would still have to be held accountable for what he had done and face the High Council. There was no coming back from killing the king.

The thought made Gren sadder than it probably should.

To his surprise a low chuckle echoed from Runaan’s cell. “Precisely. Now you get it.”

That night Gren dreamt of escape and for the first time it wasn’t Amaya who came for him in his dreams. Light footsteps approached him almost silently. Gren had never seen Runaan’s face but he imagined pale eyes that weren’t exactly friendly and white hair that glowed in the moonlight, unable to hide horns which curled gracefully backwards. In his mind Runaan was tall, taller than Gren so Gren had to look up at him. He was wearing a dark tunic that looked a little worse-for-wear from whatever torture Viren had subjected him to – Gren didn’t like to think about that too much. At least there were no bloodstains on it.

Runaan’s expression was closed off when he stepped up to Gren and helped him out of the chains.

“Do you know a safe way out of the palace?” he asked. Gren nodded. He bit his lip when Runaan loosened his right hand and jostled his broken wrist in the process.

Reflexively, Gren tried to lower his arm, and he nearly screamed in agony when the chains – not gone, never gone, just a dream – cut deep into abused flesh, tearing open old wounds that never healed. A wave of nausea washed over him and Gren felt himself swaying on the spot, completely disoriented in the darkness.

“What did you do now?” Runaan asked. His voice was muffled and far away but _real_. It gave Gren some sense of direction again, grounding him in the here and now. He took one deep breath, and then another and another until his wrist stopped screaming at him. His eyes burned but he willed the tears away. They wouldn’t change anything anyway. They never had before.

“Gren?” Runaan asked. It was the first time he had called Gren by his name and he actually sounded concerned, truly concerned.

That more than anything compelled Gren to answer. “It’s nothing,” he murmured, wishing it were true.

Runaan groaned. “You really are just like him, you know? He always says that when something is obviously wrong, too. I find it … irritating.”

Irritating … Amaya had once said something similar to him as well when he’d had a cold and tried to convince her he was perfectly fine and could still do his job. Gren almost smiled at the memory.

“My friend would agree with you,” he finally said, still breathing through the pain. He remembered how Amaya had fussed over him and yet used every chance she had to let him know just how angry she was at him for not taking better care of himself. “She can be very vocal about it, too,” he added, thinking about the harsh and abrupt way Amaya tended to sign when she was upset.

“I’m sure you will see her again,” Runaan said. He must have heard something in Gren’s voice, maybe the fondness that Gren could never quite hide when he talked about Amaya, because he sounded completely honest. Instead of the sarcasm Gren had gotten used to Runaan’s voice was filled with unfamiliar conviction. It made Gren’s heart ache. He wanted to believe Runaan, wanted nothing more than to trust that there would come a day when he would see Amaya again, maybe even feel her arms around him once more.

But it was getting harder. With every day that passed he lost a little bit more hope – and he feared the day he would have no hope left at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys once again for reading and leaving kudos and comments! I really appreciate that and I love to hear what you think!
> 
> Things are getting more and more dire for poor Gren. I've had a lot of fun writing this chapter, thinking about the parallels between Runaan and Tinker, and Gren and Amaya. I feel like this would be something those two would bond over. 
> 
> The next chapter will probably be up on Saturday or Sunday.


	4. 4. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: there is talk about death and suicidal thoughts in this chapter. If this is triggering for you, please do not read! Nothing happens and it's all just in Gren's head but I wanted to put a warning just in case.

**4\. Death**

Keeping his spirits high, even just for appearances in those short moments when Viren talked to him, became increasingly difficult for Gren the more time passed. He had no idea how long he’d been imprisoned by now. Five days? Six? A week or maybe even more?

He shuddered. Could it really have been weeks already? Judging by the way his uniform hung on him it certainly seemed possible but Gren had no sure way of knowing. There was no pattern to Viren’s visits, no way to determine how long exactly he’d had Gren chained up or how likely it was that Amaya had grown suspicious of his lack of reports yet and was on her way back to investigate why he hadn’t written to her.

Gren sighed, letting his head fall softly back against the cold stone wall behind him. He wasn’t sure he wanted Amaya to come and rescue him anymore. It wasn’t just because he was afraid of her reaction, afraid she’d look differently at him when she realized her nephews were still in danger because he had failed to do his job. There was one other reason, one crippling fear that had cemented itself in his mind since the last time Viren had been down in the dungeon.

“You know,” he had said nonchalantly, an amused smile playing on his lips as he wiped his hands on his robe, “for all your optimism I wouldn’t hope too hard for our dear general to save you, Commander. It would be _such_ a shame if that was the last thing she ever did ... wouldn’t it?”

The words chilled Gren to his very bones and the smile slipped off his face. Viren chuckled. “I see we understand each other. Goodnight, Commander.”

Gren could do nothing but watch him go, filled with dread und utterly helpless to do anything about it. He had no doubt that Viren meant every word he said. That man was capable of unspeakable things and Gren had seen the proof of that first-hand. What Viren had done to Runaan – it was unimaginable. The elf’s cries still rang in Gren’s ears like echoes in a cave and he tried everything he could think of to block them out: talking to the emptiness of the dungeon, singing song after song until his throat felt raw and he had to resort to whistling to fill the silence around him. Nothing helped. Runaan’s screams formed a horrible symphony with Viren’s threats against Amaya in Gren’s head no matter what he did, and whenever he closed his eyes he saw that cursed coin glinting in the candlelight and a terrified face staring up at him.

Runaan’s eyes, wide with fear and more impressive than Gren had ever imagined, had burned themselves into Gren’s mind. They haunted his nightmares, sometimes even transforming into Amaya’s, and that was even worse. A despair unlike anything Gren had ever known would flood him every time that happened and leave him gasping for breath, a choked cry on his lips, and tasting blood.

He had no doubt that this was what lay in store for Amaya should she come back for him – or something even worse, something Gren’s mind was unable to comprehend because he had never been one to hurt people and take pleasure in it. He was a diplomat first and a soldier second, believing from a young age that words could fix things better than violence. They were at war, though, and people like him who thrived on communication didn’t have the luxury not to fight. He had never hesitated to stand by Amaya’s side and protect her if need be, but every time he had hurt someone so she would be safe had left him shaking for hours afterwards, unable to forget what he had done.

Try as he might, Gren couldn’t even begin to imagine what must be going on in Viren’s head to even get the idea of imprisoning someone inside a coin. How broken, how corrupted must someone be to think of something like that? Was it the Dark Magic that turned Viren from trusted advisor of the king into this ruthless person or had he always been like this, keeping this part of himself hidden until now?

Gren didn’t know. All he knew was that Viren would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, whatever that was, and if Amaya stood in his way or caused trouble … Gren couldn’t bear to think of what might happen then. He knew Amaya. He knew she wouldn’t come here quietly knocking on the door. She would challenge Viren openly and Viren would throw all he had against her. Not even Amaya could stand a chance against that much raw power.

But would Viren kill her? Would he turn on her the moment she set foot inside the castle walls, showing no mercy at all? It was more than possible if all he wanted was to have Amaya out of the way, Gren thought. But what if he wanted more? What if he wanted information, or her connection to the Royal Family? Would he capture her, then, and torture her like he had tortured Runaan – for days, weeks or even months, using the darkest magic humans could perform to bend her to his will? Or would he play with her, like a cat with a mouse, and do something else, something cruel and personal to make her talk – like using Gren against her? 

The thought alone made Gren sick. It was no secret that he and Amaya were more than general and commander. Their friendship was there for everyone to see. They had never hidden it, least of all around Amaya’s family – and Viren, once upon a time, had been more than an advisor to the king. He had been his closest and most trusted friend. Family in everything but blood. Of course he was aware that Gren was one of Amaya’s few personal weaknesses. There was no reason not to think Viren wouldn’t use that knowledge to his advantage.

Gren couldn’t let that happen. If Amaya or the princes got hurt because of him, because he was close to them, because he was a _friend_, he would never forgive himself.

His options to do something about it were limited, though. He knew he couldn’t free himself. He’d tried that already, several times, and always failed. His broken wrist was testament to that. The chains hadn’t budged back when he still had his full strength and they certainly wouldn’t give way now that he was weakened by days of not enough food or water. There was no way he was breaking out of the dungeon without help. So what else could he do?

The answer, in the end, was horrifyingly simple. There was only one thing Gren could actively do in this situation, namely rob Viren of his leverage against Amaya by refusing to eat and drink like Runaan had. By doing that he could take back at least some semblance of control over his life and choose his own fate instead of leaving it in Viren’s tainted hands.

It was the perfect solution, really, Gren tried to tell himself. He’d already lost so much weight due to the irregular meals Viren provided him with that he was fairly sure it wouldn’t take much more for his body to shut down. The hunger had even stopped gnawing at him – always a bad sign – and Gren knew that it would only take a few days without water to bring even the fiercest and strongest warrior down – neither of which he was.

And if that wouldn’t be enough, if Viren decided to force-feed him, then Gren was pretty sure the infection he could feel spreading through him would take care of things sooner rather than later. Viren hadn’t discovered his broken wrist yet thanks to Gren’s shirt and armor which hid the swelling, and Gren would do anything to keep it that way. All he had to do was put on a smile and act like nothing was wrong. He was sure Viren wouldn’t notice, occupied as his attention was with whatever was in Runaan’s old cell. He wouldn’t realize that Gren had almost no feeling left in his hand. He would never find out about the cold needle-like pricks that were spreading down the length of Gren’s arm from his wrist to his elbow. He wouldn’t know that Gren’s skin already felt on fire.

Gren didn’t have to look at his wound, didn’t have to see his pale skin turn angry-red and inflamed to know this was bad. He’d seen enough soldiers die from infections to know things weren’t looking good for him.

“I’m already dead,” he whispered into the emptiness around him, trying to gain courage from the familiar words now that he knew there would only be one way out of this situation and being rescued wasn’t it. He tried to accept his fate, tried to harden himself against it and be at peace with letting nature run its course but his heart beat nervously against his ribs in protest.

No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t like Runaan, able to shut away his emotions behind a door and throw away the key. Even though he knew it would be for the best he did not wish to die, not truly. There was still that small part of him that refused to give up hope – and was afraid of death. It was what kept him going at the orphanage when life seemed almost pointless: his fear of dying.

_Death is a path we all must walk sooner or later_, Amaya had once said to him after their first battle together had left him trembling all through the night. _There is no need to fear it. It is a part of life._

At the time her words had made him feel ill because life was not about expecting death at any second – it was about living in the moment and finding as much joy in the world as you could, even in the little things.

Now here in this dungeon where his world had been reduced to cold, darkness and pain and the crippling worry that he could be used to hurt Amaya, her words strangely brought him comfort. Maybe she had been right: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad: dying. Maybe he would see her again at the end of the path starvation and infection were leading him towards.

Gren hoped he would. He could almost see her before him, many years from now, with grey hair and more laughter lines than he could count on her face walking towards him down that worn and well-trodden path everyone had to walk, just like she had said. She was smiling, carefree and full of joy like he’d never seen her in life, and that alone would make it all okay.

Gren fell asleep with that image in his mind, almost peaceful, even as the flaming fingers of fever reached for him in the darkness, testing his defenses, and bringing him ever closer to the very same fate he dreamed about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Gren's at a low point. One more chapter left to go until things finally get better for him! I'm planning to post chapter 5 on Monday and chapter 6 on Wednesday or Thursday, just before the new season airs!
> 
> Thanks once more for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! Feedback is always very much appreciated, either here or over at tumblr (ailendolin.tumblr.com). Have a great weekend!


	5. 5. Amaya

**5\. Amaya**

The cell was pitch-black when Gren opened his eyes. Nothing new there. What was new, however, was the liquid fire coursing hot through his veins. He was burning up, sweating despite the chill, and the small part of his brain that hadn’t yet given up on hope and rescue realized that this wasn’t a good sign. Rationally, Gren knew the dungeon wasn’t warm. It was cold and damp and drafty despite the lack of windows, just like the Silent Room at the orphanage had been. He had been cold since the moment he’d been dragged down those cursed stairs and chained up against the wall. He _remembered _that. That he wasn’t shivering now could only mean one thing: his fever had gone from bad to worse.

It took his sluggish brain a moment to process what that actually meant.

_I’m dying_, Gren realized, blinking heavy eyes against the darkness in almost-surprise.

He was dimly aware of how parched his throat was, of how weak he felt. His arms were trembling above him, the muscles cramping painfully every now and then. Even though Viren had exchanged his chains for longer ones after his legs had given out (was that yesterday? Or the day before that?), the only thing that kept Gren sitting upright in that very moment was the fact that the new chains weren’t long enough to allow him to lie down. His body weight pulled mercilessly at the iron bands as he listed to the side like a ship in a storm and his shoulders strained under the onslaught. It hurt, but only dully and the pain seemed far away in the heat. Even though Gren had a feeling he should probably do something about that, right now he just didn’t have the strength to care. He felt so damn tired.

_So this is it_, he thought. _The end of the line_.

Gren swallowed and tried to wet his cracked lips. It would only be a matter of time until he would fall asleep and never wake up again. He had thought he was all right with that – not dying itself but dying for a good cause, dying to keep Amaya safe. That was all that mattered, in the end: making sure she wouldn’t come to harm, making sure she would have no reason to come for him so Viren wouldn’t be able to use him against her.

But dying came with a prize – a prize Gren wished he wouldn’t have to pay in return for Amaya’s safety. Dying meant he would never see her again, never get to ask her for her forgiveness, never be able to make sure she wouldn’t blame herself for his death. He knew he would never stand by her side again and see her smile, never be her rock when things got bad, never be her Voice when she needed one. And worst of all, he would never get the chance to tell her how grateful he was to have known her, how blessed he felt to have had her in her life for these last few precious years. He would never get to show her just how much she truly meant to him.

Sadness and the regret of a thousand missed chances slipping through his fingers washed over Gren like a tidal wave. The darkness, his one constant companion during his captivity, was the only witness to his grief. He had no strength left to fight the tears welling up in his eyes and he cried for every missed opportunity, everything he’d never said and every moment he now would never share with Amaya. She was so much more than his general, so much more than a simple friend, and even lost in his regrets Gren couldn’t help but wonder if she’d known that. He’d tried to show her for years, tried to tell her not with words but with gestures, some small, some not – but had it been enough? Gren didn’t know and the thought that Amaya might have never realized that she was his best friend, his family, his _home_, tore at him. Why had he never told her that she was the most important person in his life? Why had he always assumed she somehow knew that? Why couldn’t he have been brave and vulnerable and just a little bit like her for once and just _tell_ her?

_Because you’re not like that_, a voice in his head told him. _You’re just Gren the orphan. Gren the Voice who speaks for others but never for himself, who spent his whole life on the outside looking in, unable to ask for what he wants because he fears rejection more than loneliness. _

_Gren who always smiles when he feels like crying._

Gren closed his eyes against the words and the rush of pain that had nothing to do with his broken wrist and aching shoulders. His head could sometimes be an ugly, ugly place, especially when he was left alone with his thoughts for too long.

Exhausted, he tried to think of nothing. He allowed his mind to drift away from his regrets, steering it forcefully into safer waters. It wasn’t as hard as it used to be to numb his thoughts, not with the infection waging war on his mind and body. His dry lips ached for water but that was all he felt though the fever haze. Flames danced across his closed eyelids and slipping into sleep was easier than it should be. Almost dangerously easy, but Gren was beyond caring.

He floated through nothingness at first. All around him was darkness. I wasn’t the impenetrable blackness he’d become so familiar with in the dungeon, though. The nothingness was grey and Gren smiled, almost basking in the color. Grey was good. Grey was comforting and nothing like the orphanage. Grey was a storm, bringing precious water to parched lands. It was stone: long-lasting, steadfast and something to build upon; and it was like armor, protective and enveloping. Safety.

Gren liked grey.

Then something changed: the nothingness rippled and a shape formed in the grey in front of him. Color bled into Gren’s dream: brown and blue and yellow, each one more beautiful than the one before. He blinked and almost didn’t believe his eyes when he saw Amaya standing before him, tall and noble and just as beautiful as he remembered her – if it weren’t for the regretful look in her eyes.

_I’m sorry, Gren_, she signed and Gren felt his heart sink even though he didn’t understand what she meant at first. His eyes followed her line of sight down to where his right arm should be. Had been. Wasn’t there anymore. Gone.

_The healers tried but they couldn’t save it._

Gren stared at Amaya in horror. Behind her, another from took shake in the darkness. At first Gren thought it was a healer coming to take a look at his arm but then he realized the person was wearing armor instead of robes. It looked like an almost identical copy to his own, and Gren’s face fell. The man wearing it proudly was dark and fair, handsome – everything Gren wasn’t. He had an air of competence around him and stood comfortably and at ease at Amaya’s side – as if he’d done it a thousand times before, as if he belonged there even though he didn’t. He couldn’t: that was Gren’s place he was standing in.

Gren frowned. His eyes moved to the soldier’s face. The way he was watching Amaya’s hands intently as if waiting for her to sign something was achingly familiar and just like that Gren realized who he was looking at. This wasn’t just a random soldier. This was Amaya’s new Voice.

Gren’s stomach plummeted. Desperately, he raised his left hand, his only hand, and tried to sign to Amaya, to make her understand that he could still be useful even though he was broken, but Amaya shook her head before he could form the first shaky word. _I’m sorry_, she repeated, the movements of her hands careful and almost clinical. _I can’t wait until you recover. The princes can’t wait. I need to go, Gren. I hope you understand._

She turned around, then, her new Voice just a step behind her. Gren called for her and pushed himself up, trying to go after her. Amaya didn’t look back. The darkness swallowed her almost immediately and then she was gone, leaving Gren behind in the nothingness, utterly alone once more. The grey vastness around him darkened. The light faded and a storm rolled in, vicious and powerful and merciless as it swallowed the grey and turned day into night until only darkness remained – a darkness as black as the dungeon, and Gren woke with a gasp, jerking violently against the chains, Amaya’s name on his lips. His left shoulder made a sickening sound and for a moment everything was still.

Gren screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a big thank you to all of you who read this story and leave kudos and comments and let me know what you think! It always makes my day!
> 
> Also, I sincerely hope your Monday went better than Gren's. He's really not having a good time right now, is he? Luckily for him, in chapter 6 he'll finally get a break and we're finally going to meet the real Amaya! Right now I'm planning to upload the final chapter on Wednesday, but no promises. Depends on how much time I'll have to polish it up until then. See you soon!


	6. + 1. Soldiers

**\+ 1. Soldiers**

He didn’t know how long he’d been alone in the dark, alternately shivering and sweating through fever dream after fever dream, until the sound of the spiral staircase being lowered down startled him awake. Light, precious golden light, filtered in from the ceiling and lit up the darkness. Gren squinted against the brightness of the torch which left trails of painful stars behind his eyelids whenever he blinked.

An inner voice urged him to get up. _Don’t let him see you weak. _Gren gathered every last bit of his strength and pushed himself up to his feet. He gritted his teeth until he stood on unsteady legs in a room that kept spinning around him, dangerously close to tilting off its axis. Fever-flames licked at the edges of his vision, performing a blinding dance with the torchlight as he waited.

Two sets of heavy footsteps echoed in the dungeon as they made their descend. _But that doesn’t make sense_, Gren thought, trying to pull his muddled thoughts together. _Viren always comes alone. Could it be Claudia with him? Or Soren? Were they back?_

It wasn’t Viren or his children turning towards him at the end of the stairs, though. The faces staring back from the shadows belonged to two soldiers Gren knew he had seen before but for the life of him couldn’t remember the names of. They obviously recognized him, though. Their eyes widened and their faces drained of all color, and they looked at him as if they had seen a ghost - as if they were shocked to find him here.

So Gren did the only logical thing he could think of: he used the last remains of his strength to smile and wave at them with his left hand to put them at ease, to tell them that it was all right. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled into the back of his head was the frantic look on their faces as they darted forward to catch him.

* * *

It took him days to fight off the fever and infection. Gren drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of his surroundings. He remembered flashes of pain when his dislocated shoulder was pushed back into its socket, when the surgeon gently examined his broken wrist and carefully probed at the scabbed wound on the back of his head. Most of the time, though, Gren floated in blissful oblivion in a place that was filled with light blue skies and the warmth of a summer day.

He thought he saw Amaya’s face, pale and worried, above his own at one point; felt her stroke his hair back from his forehead and place a blessedly cool cloth against his hot skin, but he had spent enough time in the dungeon to know he couldn’t trust his eyes.

_I’ve got you, Gren_, she signed to him as his vision began to darken around its edges. _Stay with me._

Gren smiled up at her even though he knew she wasn’t real. “You’ve said that before.”

He closed his eyes and drifted away again.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of when he woke up properly for the first time was the light. Everything around him was bright instead of dark and there was sunlight filtering in from the window next to his bed. Gren could have wept at the sight even though his eyes could barely stand the brightness. He’d thought he’d never get to see the sun again. It was even more beautiful than he remembered.

He basked in the warmth for a moment before he turned away from the window to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the light. The room he was in seemed familiar though Gren, exhausted as he felt, couldn’t quite pinpoint why at first. Crème-colored walls seemed to glow in the sunlight and a huge collection of books lined the wall across from him. He squinted at them, trying to make out their titles. He frowned. He remembered those books, worn and well-loved, had seen them before in hands he knew as well as his own.

“Amaya,” he whispered, finally realizing where he was.

This was her room, the one in the castle her sister had always kept ready for her to return home to. Gren had spent many hours here with Amaya, pouring over maps and letters, talking strategy and planning their next move – and a few precious times talking about nothing important at all. Those were the moments he cherished the most, the ones when they simply enjoyed each other’s company and Gren could be more than just Amaya’s Voice – when he could be her friend, the most precious honor she had ever granted him. He felt more at ease in this room than he did in any other place in Katolis.

Amazed, Gren drank in the sight of everything around him, both familiar and achingly new. Little had changed since he’d last been here but after days, maybe weeks spent in darkness the beauty of Amaya’s simple-kept room was like a vision. There were so many shades of beige, of blue and gold all around him, so different from the empty night he had been trapped in for so long. The pillow beneath his head felt as soft as a cloud compared to the damp stone wall he was forced to rest against before, and the blankets were as warm and comforting as a lovely summer day. Gren knew without looking that they were blue – Amaya’s favorite color.

He shifted a little, trying to reach for the glass of water on the bedside table, and a wave of pain crashed over him and left him gasping. _Bad idea_, he thought, and all he could do was breathe through the agony that had flared up in his right hand and shoulder when he jarred them. After the worst had passed Gren carefully lowered himself back against the pillow, wincing when the motion pulled at abused muscles and tendons. He breathed a sigh of relief once he was settled.

Then it hit him. His shoulder hurt. His _hand_ hurt. He could feel pain – normally not a reason for joy but in that moment Gren could have shouted in relief because it could only mean one thing: he still had a hand, he still had an arm! He risked a glance down to his right and sure enough, there his hand was, wrapped in pristine white bandages and secured with wooden splints.

_It’s still there!_

Tears welled in his eyes. He hadn’t lost his hand in his foolish attempt to break free, and despite the pain it caused him he was even able to move his fingers, if only a little. There was a chance he could still sign. He could still talk to Amaya and be her Voice and–

_Amaya. _

Gren’s blood ran cold. Was she all right? Was she even still alive? Had she come back here, unaware of Viren’s treachery and ruthlessness, and paid the price for caring about him?

Before his thoughts could spiral downward into a full-blown panic, the door to his right opened with a barely audible creak. Gren’s head whirled around.

“Amaya,” he whispered out loud, momentarily forgetting to sign, and his shoulders sagged with relief.

_You’re awake_, Amaya signed, and if he were interpreting Gren would have made himself sound shocked because her eyes were wide and her hands were trembling in a way he’d never seen before.

Gren signed back the first thing he could think of. _You’re alive_.

His left hand moved clumsily while his eyes roamed over her, taking in every little detail and looking for any signs, no matter how small, that might indicate that she’d been wounded: scrapes, bruises, bandages peeking out from under her dark tunic. He saw nothing but that wasn’t good enough. Gren had to know for sure. _Did he hurt you?_

For a moment, Amaya frowned at him in confusion. Then her eyes widened when she realized who he meant. She shook her head, looking stricken. _No. I promise._

Gren had no reason to doubt her. Amaya would never lie to him, least of all about this. He closed his eyes in relief, trying to keep his emotions under control as her words truly sank in: she was safe. She was right here with him and unharmed. Viren hadn’t gotten his filthy hands on her, hadn’t been able to lure her into a trap by using Gren.

He hadn’t failed her in that regard, at least.

To his left, the mattress dipped a little, and Gren felt a soft touch against his hand, warm and gentle. He opened his eyes again. Amaya was holding the glass of water he had been reaching for earlier up, a questioning look in her eyes. Gren nodded and she held the glass to his lips, making sure he drank in small, careful sips. The water felt heavenly against his parched throat and after he drained the whole glass Amaya placed it back onto the bedside table.

She made to stand up. _I should get the healer_, she signed.

Gren’s eyes went wide and his stomach plummeted. _Not again_, he thought in dismay, shaking his head frantically. She couldn’t leave, not so soon.

Amaya paused. Her gaze flickered from him to the door, and she looked torn. _You must be in pain. They will help you. I’ll only be a minute._

The thought of her leaving, of being alone once more so soon after having just found her again, was unbearable. _Please don’t go_, Gren signed desperately. _I’m fine. I promise. Please stay. Please._

Amaya’s eyes softened. She smiled at him, a little sadly, and nodded. Gren sighed in relief as he watched her settle down on the bed and pull one knee up onto the mattress to get more comfortable. He itched to reach out to her, to make sure she was really there. He forced himself to focus on her hands and the signs they formed instead.

_You can speak, you know?_ she signed. _I can read your lips just fine. You need to rest your hands. _Her smile turned a little mischievous._ That’s an order, Commander._

Her words, Gren knew, were meant to be kind and reassuring, but they had the opposite effect: they made him think of that horrible fever dream he’d had in the dungeon, the one where she had replaced him with someone else, someone _better_, because he’d been useless to her without his hand. He knew the real her would never do that, and especially not in such a cruel way as his mind had come up with. But when he stared down at the bandages around his right hand an awful feeling settled low in his stomach nonetheless, one that defied any logical thoughts.

A touch on his arm made him finally look away from his broken hand. _Gren?_ Amaya signed, a worried look on her face. He hated that he put it there.

_What if my hand won’t heal?_ he asked, unable to meet her eyes. His left hand was shaking so badly the words were barely recognizable. _You’ll need a new interpreter. I’m no good to you like this. I’m not–_

_Stop! _Amaya signed furiously, the sound of the side of her right hand meeting her left palm so loud in the quiet room it startled him. He stared in shock as she reached for his left hand, effectively preventing him from going on, and his mouth fell open in a silent _oh_ when she pressed a deliberate kiss against his skin, her fingers gentle on the bandages around his wrist.

_Why would you say that?_ she asked, signing one-handedly instead of letting go of his hand. Her eyes were full of sadness once more, the same kind Gren saw in them every time they visited Queen Sarai’s grave, the one he hated with all his heart because there was nothing he could possibly do to make it go away, to ease her pain. It wasn’t a look she had ever directed at him before, never really had a reason to, and it made Gren pause.

_I don’t need a new interpreter,_ Amanda began._ I don’t want one! How can you not know that? You are– _her hands paused in mid-air as she struggled to find the right words._ You are not just your hands, Gren. You are so much more than that, more than just my interpreter and my Voice. You’re my friend. You’re _family_. If I lost you … I can’t even bear to think of it._

She smiled at him, then, and there were tears in her eyes.

Gren felt lost.

“But I failed you,” he said, reluctantly meeting her eyes so she could read his lips, “I let myself get imprisoned even though you warned me, and because of that I couldn’t complete the mission and now the princes are long gone and probably hurt or captured or, or worse! And it’s all my fault! How can you even look at me?”

_I will never tire of looking at you_, Amaya signed without hesitation, her face open and honest. Gren was acutely aware of her gaze on him – and of her fingers gently stroking the back of his hand. He felt his face heat up and dropped his gaze to her other hand, the one she was using to sign. _Short of defecting to the enemy I can’t imagine even one scenario where you could possibly fail me._

“The princes–“ Gren began again but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

_The princes are fine, Gren, _Amaya signed, her fingers unbelievably gentle and elegant as they formed the words._ Corvus found them, and he brought Prince Ezran home. _She paused._ He is king now. _

Gren blinked in surprise, reeling at the news. King Ezran … the young prince had ascended the throne while Gren had been fighting off his infection, bearing a heavy burden now he hadn’t been meant to carry for years and years to come. Gren’s heart ached for him and the loss of his childhood. He could see from the way Amaya’s mouth tightened that she wasn’t too happy about that, either, but at least the prince – now the king – had been found unharmed. That was what mattered most. Everything else could be dealt with later.

King Ezran hadn’t been the only one missing, though.

“What about Prince Callum?” Gren asked, fearing the worst.

Amaya sighed. _In Xadia with the Elf and the … Dragon Prince, most likely. _

Gren’s eyes widened, and it was only Amaya’s quick reflexes that stopped him from sitting up and further aggravating his injuries. Her hand pressed against his chest just over his heart, warm and reassuring yet hard enough to prevent him from moving.

_Relax,_ Amaya signed once she was sure he wouldn’t do anything foolish. _Apparently, the elf is a friend and didn’t really kidnap the princes. They’ve been trying to right an old wrong all this time, by taking the egg that Viren stole back to Xadia. It’s a long story. _

“Why didn’t they tell us at the Lodge?” Gren asked. “We could have helped them!”

Amaya shrugged, not meeting his eyes. _Ezran wanted to but Callum … well, you know what happened. _

Gren could see how much it hurt her that her nephew didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth. He wanted to reach out to her, take her hand in his and tell her with a simple touch that he was there for her. As simple as that seemed it was something he would never do. Her hands were her words, her only means of communication, and Gren would never take that away from her, no matter how well his intentions might be. He rested his hand gently against her leg instead before carefully tracing the words _Not your fault_ against the soft woolen trousers she wore.

Amaya gave him a grateful smile.

“I’m glad they are all right,” Gren told her then, out loud.

_And you as well_, Amaya signed. _You had me worried there for a while. _

She looked weary and exhausted when she said that, and for the first time Gren noticed the dark shadows beneath her expressive eyes. His first instinct was to tell her that he was fine, that his imprisonment hadn’t been so bad, but he would be lying to the both of them. Gren knew he had been close to dying. He had seen more people than he’d like succumb to fever and infection, both family members, friends and strangers, and he’d felt that same scorching fire in his bones during those last awful days in Viren’s dungeon. One look at Amaya’s face told him exactly how very weak his hold on life had been after his rescue, how precarious the edge of precipice he’d been teetering on had truly been. If he’d been found a day later …

_I never want to see you like this again,_ Amaya signed softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

Gren knew exactly how she felt. He’d been lucky all these years until now, until Viren decided he was in the way. Before that, the worst that had happened to him since he met Amaya were a few cuts and bruises here and there and the occasional flu. Amaya, on the other hand, had always attracted trouble. As a commanding officer, enemies tended to single her out in a fight, intent on ending her life and rendering her battalion leaderless. She’d had more than her fair share of injuries over the years, some of them nothing but an inconvenience, others far graver. Gren didn’t know how many nights and days he had sat by her side, cleaning her wounds and cooling her burning forehead as she fought off infection or poison from an arrow wound. More than once he’d feared she wouldn’t make it. He didn’t sleep for days, unable to bear the thought of not being with her should the worst come to pass. He could still recall that hollow helplessness of those moments when he thought she might take her last breath, and he saw the shadows of it now in her dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Gren told her, bowing his head briefly. “I’ll try not to get captured again,” he added after a moment, hoping to reassure her.

To his surprise, Amaya huffed out a silent laugh. _You certainly will not_, she stated matter-of-factly, _because I’m never letting you out of my sight again._

Warmth blossomed in Gren’s chest when he saw her words.

“You won’t?” he asked, almost not daring to hope.

The amusement faded from Amaya’s eyes and her face became serious. Her gaze met his and it was so intense that Gren held his breath.

_Never again_, she signed and then, to his surprise, she traced the words onto the back of his hand as well, emphasizing them. _Never again_.

Time seemed to stand still for a heartbeat as a thousand emotions swirled inside of Gren at once. Her words felt like they were more than just a promise to keep him out of trouble. They felt like nights spent under the stars in front of a warm fire, like days walking side by side in comfortable silence, never far apart. They were like a tender hug, reassuring and comforting at the same time and like a smile, small and exhausted but true.

They felt like coming home.

With only two words Amaya had promised him a future by her side: no more separation, no more missions that tore them apart, no more nights spent wondering if the other was all right. Gren felt something painful in his chest finally ease after days, maybe weeks of uncertainty. She wanted him to be by her side, to stand right next to her – him and no one else. Forever.

He almost couldn’t believe it.

It felt marvelous, finally belonging somewhere, and so overwhelming that in the end all Gren could do was choke out a simple but heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Amaya’s answering smile brightened the room more than any sun ever could. _You’re very much welcome._

For a moment Gren could only stare at her, starstruck as the day he had met her for the first time. His heart ached – for what he didn’t know. More – of her, of them, of this.

“You’re my family, too, you know?” he whispered, finally brave enough to share a piece of his heart he had kept hidden for so long. “Have been for years.”

Amaya’s smile softened and she reached out her hand, gently placing it against his forehead. Gren closed his eyes in bliss when he felt her cool touch against his skin, and suddenly he knew: this was what he wanted – her, _close_ – and she seemed to know it.

Her hand trailed over his temple until it came to rest against his cheek. It lingered there for a moment, and it was only when she drew away that Gren opened his eyes again.

_You should rest_, Amaya signed. _You look tired._

She was right, of course. Already Gren could feel sleep pulling at him, aided by her loving touch.

“Will you stay?” he asked softly, scraping what little bravery he had left together even though he was afraid he was asking too much, too soon.

He needn’t have worried, though. Amaya simply signed, _Of course_, and before Gren knew what was happening she was lying down beside him, so close he could feel her body heat. Her hand reached for his and gently, oh so gently, her fingers traced a word onto his skin. Another promise: _Always_.

Gren didn’t know if she meant it the way he wanted her to but in this moment, perfect, quiet and theirs alone, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was here with him right now – not because she felt obliged to as his commanding officer but because she wanted to be close to her friend and family.

Gren let his eyes fall close, savoring the feeling of her warm hand on top of his and her soft breaths brushing against his face, telling him more than any words possibly could that he wasn’t alone anymore, that this wasn’t a dream. He smiled and turned his head towards her, inching just that little bit closer. He felt her move and a moment later her forehead gently came to rest against his.

He breathed out a happy sigh.

There were still a million things to do, a thousand words to say, and a hundred things they should talk about – but in this one perfect moment none of that seemed important. Here they were, both alive and finally together again. Gren had found his way home and for the first time in a long while he felt truly happy and at peace.

For now, that was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! Thank you all for coming on this journey with me! I had a blast writing this and I can't wait for season 3 to start. Maybe I'll even be back with more stories, who knows? But first of all, let's all keep our fingers crossed that nothing bad will happen to either Gren or Amaya in the next season. 
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
